


What remains

by galaxylane



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Season/Series 06, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-26 08:12:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19001854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxylane/pseuds/galaxylane
Summary: A stranger wears Clarke's face, but despite what everyone says, Bellamy can't find it in himself to believe she's really gone. In fact, he's willing to risk everything on the hope that she isn't.Set post 6x04/6x05.





	What remains

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting for this fandom (I've been watching the show for years and have dozens of half written drafts but this is the first time I've had the nerve to post anything). Been a while since I've written anything at all, so bear with me. Set sometime post 6x04/6x05!

There was a time when Bellamy was more likely to follow through on ill-conceived plans, fueled by emotion and righteous anger and the need to _do something_ regardless of how reckless his actions were. He has always known that about himself; it’s why Clarke used to admonish him so much for not using his head more. Back then, he had never bothered to learn because she had always been there to temper his recklessness with her level head.

But Bellamy is older now. He’s spent years up in space honoring what he thought were Clarke’s last wishes, learning to think first and act second. To weigh the risks and consequences the way she would have done before. It’s changed him, made him a better leader over time.

That progress seems to vanish the moment they realize what has happened to Clarke. It’s why Murphy, though going along with what he has repeatedly called an ‘insane’ plan, keeps shooting him wary looks out of the corner of his eye.

Bellamy can’t say he blames him, but it doesn’t shake his resolve. Not even a little.

"It's irreversible," Xavier tells them. "There's a reason we kill Primes when we can. There's nothing left of the host. Your friend is gone and if you cared about her, you'll kill the Prime who took her from you."

"Good luck with that," Octavia snorts from the corner, her arms crossed over her chest. Bellamy barely spares her a glance; he has spoken to her as little as possible since she'd led he and Murphy here, a bound and gagged Josephine in tow.

“No one’s killing Clarke,” he snaps. “They can’t just wipe a person away. She has to still be in there.”

Xavier fixes him with a look that is part pity, part derision. “It’s not Clarke anymore. I’ve never heard of a host coming back. Not once. She’s gone, and if we don’t kill this Prime they’ll just do this to someone else when her body is no longer of use. At least we can give her death some meaning by putting a stop to this.”

He makes to move past Bellamy towards Josephine, who lets out a strangled noise, but Bellamy side steps in front of her to block her from view. A woman standing behind Xavier scoffs.

“I’ve had enough of this,” she says. “Let’s kill them all and be done with it.”

Bellamy pointedly ignores her, choosing instead to focus on Xavier. “You said you’ve never seen a host come back. That doesn’t mean they can’t. At least let us try. Please.”

Xavier raises a brow. “What makes you think your friend is any different?”

Before he can respond, he hears Murphy snort behind him. “Because Clarke is like a cockroach. She’s survived much worse.”

It sounds harsh, but there is no ire in his tone, just a grudging respect. Xavier eyes them both before sighing, turning to the group behind him. “Give them a few hours to try. It’s no difference to us in the end.” He turns back to Bellamy, eyes hard. “But if you try to save the Prime by removing her from this camp, you’ll all die with her. You have until sunrise.”

 

 

 

They give them a cabin to use at the edge of their encampment. Inside, they tie Josephine to a chair, still gagged and eyeing them calculatingly from across the room.

“What now?” Octavia mutters, her fingers running over the dagger at her side. “We just ask nicely if she can let Clarke out to play?”

“She’s got a point, Bellamy,” Murphy says. “What the fuck are we supposed to do here?”

“If she’s taken over hosts before, she has to know how it works. That means she must know if there’s a way to reverse it,” he surmises. He wonders if they can tell his confident tone is all bravado. He has no idea if this half-cocked plan will work. He just knows it’s all they have.

“You really think she’ll give that information up willingly?” Octavia’s mouth twists. “You’re essentially asking her to tell us how to kill her.”

“We aren’t really, though, not if they don’t die like we do.”

“I doubt she’ll care about a technicality.”

“Well I know one way to get information out of someone.” Diyoza’s voice startles them from where she stands in the doorway, leaning up against the frame. When all she receives are wary looks she shrugs. “What? It’s just a suggestion.”

“No.” He knows what she’s getting at; it’s not like he hasn’t done that before himself during an interrogation. But he knows he won’t be able to bring himself to hurt Clarke, or even watch it happen, even if it’s not really her. He still can’t look at the faded bruises on her neck without feeling sick to his stomach. “We’ll figure something else out.”

But hours pass and he has to admit to himself that Octavia may be right. Josephine refuses to give up any information, smirking at their attempts to reason with her and remaining silent. Diyoza tries to interrogate her, throwing Bellamy frustrated glances over the fact that he’s taken torture off the table. Josephine alternates between looking smug and bored. At one point she outright laughs in their faces, and he has to step outside, frustration and anger coiling in chest at the sight of her arrogance.

He takes a deep, steadying breath as he looks up at the night sky, feeling the fury that has fueled his actions the last twenty four hours ebb just enough for the weight of the situation sink onto his shoulders. They have a very limited window and it is closing fast. It’s only a matter of time before Russell and the others realize she’s missing, if they haven't already. On some level he knows he should have waited for a more opportune time, when she was less likely to be missed, but he hadn’t slowed down to plan anything out despite Murphy’s repeated attempts to get him to think rationally. He hasn’t let outrage drive his actions like this in a long time, but he’s afraid if he lets it go for even a second he’ll be crushed by grief instead.

He can’t let himself believe she’s really gone. If she is, it means she died alone without him even knowing, surrounded by strangers who didn’t give a damn about her beyond what use she could be to them. The thought makes his throat tighten. He has grieved her once before, and it nearly destroyed him. It took _years_ to come to terms with it, years to learn how to put himself back together in her absence. He’s not sure he can do it again. If he's wrong and she really is gone, he’ll be consumed by guilt and rage and revenge, and he’s not sure there will be anything left of him when it’s over.

Octavia appears at his side suddenly, her approach silent as always. “Murphy’s not having any luck,” she tells him. “I didn’t either.”

He doesn’t answer, his jaw ticking. He can see her giving him a long stare out of the corner of his eye.

“I’m not saying that I think we’re going to have any success here,” she says abruptly, “but if we’re going to, you know it’s not going to be Diyoza, or Murphy, or me that gets through to her. If Clarke’s still in there, it’s going to be you she responds to.”

Finally he looks at her, expression frozen. “I don’t -”

“Look, Bell,” she continues with a huff, “you know I’m right. You mean the most to her out of anyone here.”

A few weeks ago he would have objected, still caught up in his anger and hurt over her actions in Polis. Now all he can see is Clarke’s face, open and vulnerable as she tells him how important he is to her. The thought of looking into Clarke’s eyes again and seeing someone else looking back makes him feel sick, but he knows Octavia is right.

He has to try.

He leaves his sister and returns to the cabin. “Murphy, go take a break.”

Murphy swivels around from his spot in front of Josephine, frustration etched into his face. “Gladly.”

He moves past Bellamy, squeezing his shoulder once in support as he leaves. He squares his shoulders and exhales slowly, steadying himself. Josephine looks delighted at the change of pace.

“Hey handsome,” she grins wolfishly. He hates looking at her. It’s Clarke’s face, but _wrong_. It’s as if someone made a replica of Clarke based on a picture alone; the features are all technically right, but everything else is disturbingly off. They couldn’t capture the way she moves or the way she speaks, or the soft expression she reserves for the people she cares about. “Come to try and get me to talk? Your friends had no luck. But then again,” she gives him a slow once-over, tongue darting out to wet her lips, “maybe you can find a creative way to convince me.”

He ignores her and drags a chair over to sit directly in front of her.

“Clarke,” he starts. “Can you hear me?”

Josephine’s nose wrinkles. “God, really? Are we doing this?”

“Clarke, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry they did this to you,” he whispers earnestly. “We should have been there. _I_ should have been there. We didn’t know. I think we wanted so badly for this to be our second chance, we ignored the warning signs.”

“This _could_ be your second chance if you took me back, you know,” Josephine says, tilting her head at him. “My parents got what they wanted - a host. No one else in your group is a suitable host for a Prime which means the rest of you have nothing to fear. A price was paid, and now it’s done.”

“Clarke didn’t deserve to pay your fucked up price!” he snaps, his focus momentarily drawn back to the Prime. He pushes the anger down again and leans forward to look into her eyes. “Do you hear me, Clarke? You’re not a bargaining chip for us. I know you. I know you’d do it anyway if you thought it would save the rest of us from suffering but letting them sacrifice you is _not_ a price we’re willing to pay. You deserve a second chance at peace as much as the rest of us. You deserve to be _happy_ , Clarke.”

“You’re wasting your time,” Josephine mutters.

“Do you remember what you said to me the last time we saw each other?”

“For the last time, she can’t hear you,” she rolls her eyes. “She isn’t in here anymore.”

“You said,” he continued, his throat feeling tight, “we were family. You said you were sorry for leaving me. You can’t leave now, Clarke. If you’re still in there, I need you to come back. I need you to fight. _Please,_ Clarke. I need -” his voice wavers, “I need _you_. Please. I need to know if you’re still there.”

"Listen, you're cute," Josephine says, that sharp smile so unlike Clarke's plastered across her face, "but not too bright. My parents will find me. It's only a matter of time -"

Bellamy draws back suddenly, his earnest expression giving way to shock. “You’re crying.”

“What?” Josephine falters, bewildered.

“You’re _crying_ ,” he repeats, awe creeping into his voice. Sure enough, her deep blue eyes are shining, tears tracking down her cheeks.

“I’m not,” she insists, but he can hear the panic overtaking her voice as she registers the wetness on her face. “I’m _not_ -”

“No, you aren’t,” he agrees, a breathless laugh escaping him. “ _S_ _he_ is.”

“Stop it!” she hisses, and he can’t help but feel gratified at the fear in her voice. “She’s dead! This body is mine now. There’s no one in here but -”

Her voice trails off suddenly, a strange, terrified expression on her face. Her eyelids flutter and she clenches her eyes shut as though in pain, chest heaving. Then as quickly as it starts it stops, and her eyes open, mouth curved down in the hint of a frown. Her eyes find his and widen.

"Bellamy?" she whispers, tears welling in her eyes.

He knows that expression. Knows that voice. It's _her_ , he's sure of it. “Clarke?”

Clarke Griffin stares back at him for a brief, shining moment. Then, almost as quickly as she appears, she slips away, overtaken by a now nervous Josephine. It’s enough though. Now he knows for sure she’s there. Now he has _proof_.

And just like that the anger _does_ slip away, but he’s not washed away with it like he feared.

Now he has hope.

**Author's Note:**

> I may or may not post a sequel/part II to this. Anyway I can't wait to watch Bellamy burn Sanctum to the ground once he figures out what they did. Comments are always appreciated!


End file.
